15. Lucy
LUCY
The transport should know the road.
That’s what I keep thinking as the valley falls behind us and the eastern ridge rises ahead, all stone, scrubgrass, and old survey markers half-swallowed by time.
The cooperative’s utility crawler has traveled this route for decades.
It knows the bends better than most people know their own kitchens.
Still, I keep one hand braced against the dash.
Torren wanted to send two riders behind us, but Rethan refused to risk drawing Helix’s attention to the depot before we knew what remained there. I agreed, then regretted it by the third bend.
Rethan notices my grip. “You distrust the vehicle?”
“I distrust the week.”
“That is not an irrational position.”
I glance over. “Careful. You almost sounded comforting.”
“I will correct the error.”
Despite myself, I smile.
The copied memos from Maev Orlan lie sealed in a case between us.
One access log referenced Westline as the first place where local land names were translated into regional coordinates.
If the old depot still holds backup survey plates, they might prove the reclassification was not only wrong but intentional.
Intent matters to Rethan.
To me, the difference between error and theft has become thinner than paper.
The road narrows after the last orchard. Below, Solaris Valley spreads in green and gold under the twin suns. From up here, it looks peaceful enough to break my heart.
“Maev said the depot was cleared years ago,” I say.
“Cleared does not always mean empty.”
“And if Helix cleared it first?”
“Then we document the absence.”
“You make disappointment sound very official.”
“It often is.”
The crawler climbs another bend.
A warning blinks amber on the dash.
I lean forward. “That’s new.”
Rethan reaches for the console. “Guidance fluctuation.”
The crawler jerks.
Not hard. Just enough to shift the sealed case against my thigh.
Then the steering column locks.
“Rethan.”
“I see it.”
He moves fast, hands crossing the controls with startling precision. The crawler’s wheels shudder against the gravel. Another warning flashes, then another, red this time. Brake line failure. Guidance loss. Manual override unavailable.
The road curves left.
The crawler does not.
I grab the emergency rail as the vehicle punches through scrub and drops onto the slope below the track.
Stone slams beneath us. The world tilts.
The sealed case flies loose. Rethan catches it with one hand and braces his other arm across me before the crawler strikes something solid enough to throw us both forward.
Glass cracks.
Metal screams.
Then everything stops at a wrong angle.
For a moment, there is only cooling metal and the hard rush of blood in my ears.
“Lucy.”
Rethan’s voice breaks through the ringing.
“I’m here.” I taste blood where my teeth caught the inside of my cheek. “You?”
“Functional.”
“Of course you are.”
His hand is still near my shoulder, not holding me down now, only there. He withdraws it carefully, as if the space between us needs permission.
The crawler rests against a cluster of black stone halfway down the slope. One wheel hangs over open air. Below that, the ravine drops into a dry wash lined with thornbrush.
Another meter, and we would not have stopped.
I check the dash. “That was not a guidance fluctuation.”
“No.”
Rethan opens the side panel and scans the exposed wiring. He doesn’t describe what he finds, which tells me enough.
“Sabotage?” I ask.
“Yes.”
The word is clean. The meaning is not.
I climb out through the bent side hatch, ignoring the protest in my ribs. Wind strikes my face, cold and dusty. The road above looks impossibly far. The valley is hidden behind the ridge, cut off by stone and distance.
Rethan passes the sealed evidence case out first.
That annoys me until I realize he did it before checking his own injury.
“Your sleeve,” I say.
He looks down as if noticing the dark tear near his upper arm only because I mentioned it. Silver-blue skin shows beneath the fabric, scored by a shallow cut.
“It is minor.”
“Sit down.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Rethan.”
He pauses.
I point to a flat stone. “If you fall over out here after telling everyone you’re functional, I will let Torren mock you forever.”
“That would be inefficient for morale.”
“Sit.”
He sits.
I clean the cut with the field kit from the crawler, hands steadier than I feel. His skin is warmer than I expect. The faint luminous lines along his arm dim where blood gathers, then brighten again as I wrap the bandage.
“You are skilled,” he says.
“I live around farm equipment. Everyone learns basic repairs.”
“I am not equipment.”
“No, you complain less.”
His eyes meet mine.
The wind moves between us, carrying dust and the dry scent of ridge grass.
Only now, in the wreck’s stillness, do I become aware of how close we are.
His arm rests in my hands. His face is only a breath away by human measure.
Not the stillness. Not the gold of his eyes.
Not the careful restraint in every movement.
“You protected the case first,” I say.
“I protected you first.”
The answer leaves no room for argument.
My fingers tighten around the bandage.
For one reckless second, the ridge, the crash, Helix, the whole wounded valley narrows to the heat of his skin under my hands and the impossible steadiness of his gaze.
Then the crawler’s emergency beacon gives a dying chirp and goes silent.
Reality returns hard.
I pull away and turn toward the damaged console. “Can you transmit?”
Rethan rises at once. Whatever almost happened vanishes behind focus. “I will try.”
He works for several minutes, then turns toward the ridge path. “The transmitter has been disabled.”
“Disabled in the crash?”
“No.”
I shut my eyes briefly.
When I open them, a faint reflection moves across the crawler’s cracked window. High above, near the road, something small and black lifts from behind the rocks.
A drone.
It hovers just long enough to see us looking back.
Then it turns toward Westline, leading Helix exactly where we were going.